Fast Times at Mount Aberham High
by ScribbleDibble
Summary: No, it's not the Sean Penn stoner comedy, or even a comedy. The friends have changed, but nothing will rattle them more than death itself.
1. Chapter One: Lucky Headache

Fast Times at Mount Aberham High  
  
No, it's not the Sean Penn stoner comedy - it's the last chapter of the Mount Aberham High series. Death! Explosions! Premonition! Bananas!  
  
Authors note:  
  
What a weird way to start a sequel: By not finishing the first one! Yes, this is the third and final chapter in my Mount Aberham High series. I decided NOT to finish WTGTS because then things will be like a surprise for you...... okay, just blame it on sheer laziness.  
  
And, Sparky, my loveable little diamond, you have GOT to come to Cici-Inator's FD Board... we keep saying that we wish you were there. It's located at fdarchive.proboards20.com! Please come!  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
One Lucky Headache  
  
Journal: Alex Browning  
  
Oh wow, oh wow, oh holy merciful crap!  
  
And so it's come to this...  
  
Wow, it's kinda hard to say.  
  
CLEAR RIVERS IS GOING TO PARIS. WHEN WE GO TO PARIS.  
  
Wow, that was... easy.  
  
It's weird. We talk on the phone sometimes, and we message each other just about every day, oh, and she's sent me tons of pictures. But... she's been gone over two years now. We were friends for two months, then she was gone for two years, so I still get the feeling that I don't know EVERYTHING about her.  
  
Okay, Alex, you're gettin' girly on yourself. Let's just start over with the facts.  
  
Clear's going to Paris on a summer exchange thing. Seems like something she'd do. Her mom is driving her up from Jersey and made a huge effort over getting her on the same flight as us - just so we could see each other. Now that's just... wow?  
  
Okay, I am going to start giving myself shock treatments if I don't stop saying "wow."  
  
---  
  
Journal: Tod Waggner  
  
Alex called me and told me Clear is comming up the day before the trip.  
  
Hmm, that's tomorrow. How... oh whatever, screw sarcasm, I'm actually pretty excited. Man, Paris is going to be fucking sweet! Me and Shania, Alex, George, Billy... kinda like old times.  
  
Er, not exactly.  
  
For one thing, Terry used to be our friend. She used to be sweet, and to be honest I really truly thought she would stay with Billy. Now, I've not been one to get into the relationship crap, but he did everything to win her back. And she chose Carter. Billy never really told us what she said. He muttered something about "moving on" and "putting the past in the past."  
  
Well then how come she hasn't spoken to us since?  
  
And Carter? I thought he would get over himself at some point. Turns out he's still a dick. In fact, he's about twice the dick he used to be. Perhaps he's being a dick to conpensate for his lack of dick.  
  
Er, too many dicks.  
  
Anyway, I guess hanging out with too many girls would cramp our styles anyway. That goes for Carter as well, he's too much of a pretty boy.  
  
---  
  
Journal: Terry Chaney  
  
Mmmmmmmm. Carter just took me out the the Fishbowl and, well, mmmmmmmmmmm.  
  
Sorry, not referring to the food, referring to the HUUUUUUUGE makeout class we had in the car after the truly sucky meal.  
  
Wow, I never thought I'd get the advantage of dating such a great kisser!! Well, I've only dated, like, two guys, EVER, but Carter's a better kisser.  
  
He's also quite charming. Like over supper he was telling me that  
  
Sorry, phone rang.  
  
I was expecting Carter, but it was (drum roll) CLEAR RIVERS!  
  
Former friend, Clear Rivers.  
  
Our conversation went like this:  
  
C: Hey, Ter, it's me!  
  
T: Uh, hey.  
  
(weird pause)  
  
C: Me, as in, Clear?  
  
T: Ohhhhh! Clear! How... are you?  
  
C: Mediocre to good.  
  
T: Uh... (nervous laugh)  
  
C: Yeah, I guess that's kinda funny. I've got some news.  
  
T: Really? Uh, I mean, what is it?  
  
(It seems 'uh' is the word of the day for me.)  
  
C: I'm going to Paris on student exchange.  
  
T: (wondering why the fuck it's so interesting) Er, when?  
  
C: Day after tomorrow.  
  
T: (slightly more interested) Really? Are you fucking serious? We're--  
  
C: Leaving the same day, I know. That's why I'm flying from JFK.  
  
T: (knocking over desk chair) Uh, wow. So, I guess I'll be seeing you!  
  
C: (confused) Is this a good-bye.  
  
T: Uhhhh, sorta. Look, I gotta go!  
  
C: Oh, really? Well bye--  
  
T: (HANGS UP!)  
  
What the fuck did I do? Clear and I used to be friends and I'm just sitting there like a retard going "Uhhhhhhh." Maybe it's because I've made the least effort to call her since she moved to Jersey, or maybe it's that from the light way she was talking to me, she had no idea that I haven't been talking to any of her old friends.  
  
My old friends.  
  
They were my friends, too.  
  
---  
  
Journal: Billy Hitchcock  
  
I HATE French class.  
  
Or, better yet, I hate planes.  
  
I hate everything about planes.  
  
I hate flying. I hate airline food. I hate tiny cramped bathrooms and being stuck in a 747 with Carter and Terry seven seats away. (I counted on the seating plan. How lame am I?) I hate having Mr. Murneau trying to teach us French while we're thousands of feet in the air and I hate turbulence.  
  
Right now I hate everything.  
  
Except for ice cream.  
  
I think I'm gonna go get some.  
  
***  
  
Alexander Chance Browning skimmed his hand along the shelves of the convenience mart only a few blocks from his house. He thought of which items he would need most. The top of his list was candy, which he had to remind himself was not a real priority, as he had already packed everything else for his trip.  
  
The candy rack, however, reached out to him with a gooey, chocolaty hand, and he felt obliged to pick a few items.  
  
His hand waved ofer the items, his eyes doing a similar motion, only faster. The colorfull labels reminded him of a child's ball pit, and suddenly, the overwhelming temptation gave him the mentality of a two-year-old. Aero bars and Mirrages and Junior Mints and Bubble Tape! They were all in front of him and he had to choose.  
  
He chuckled at himself, crashing down, back to his seventeen-year-old body.  
  
"Choose one, asswipe!" his best friend shouted from behind the mart counter.  
  
Tod Waggner, tall and thin with an insane grin and an annoyingly nazily New York accent, leaned on the radiator behind the counter reading some dumb car magazine. Alex gazed at this, puzzled, as Tod could barely controll his pathetically old Vespa, let alone a car. Not only that, but the guy didn't seem to know ANYTHING about cars at all, or have any interest in the old models, unlike his twin brother, George, who dreamed of owning an antique Lamborguini when he was older. Or, when he turned eighteen.  
  
Then he reasoned that Tod must have been dreaming of his girlfriend, Shania, and was using the magazine to mask his goofy bliss.  
  
Inside, everyone wondered how Tod could get Shania; she was blonde, hot, and had legs to next month, while he was just Tod, the skinny Noo Yawker with an insane love for trucker hats. But when you saw them together, it was clear: They both loved a good beer (even though Tod couldn't handle himself with it) they both watched wrestling avidly, and they were both hardcore South Park fans. It was evident that Shania's fart-joke sense of humor was a match for the guy who had once eaten a puréed jalapeno burger.  
  
Alex's hand jerked to the nearest box of candies. Gobstoppers.  
  
"I wonder if they're still Clear's favourite," he muttered to himself with a smile.  
  
"Dude!" Tod shouted again, "Are you talkin' to yourself, or are you gonna make a purchase?"  
  
Alex, suddenly thinking of Clear again, took a few packs of Gobstoppers and put it in his basket.  
  
"Excited?" Alex asked Waggner as he spread his purchases around the counter.  
  
"Fuckin' right!" Tod boasted. Suddenly, and for the first time since they had met, Alex felt jealous of Tod. The guy was the one with the girlfriend, a girlfriend that had been his for two years. Alex had blown his one chance with Clear Rivers and with all that, his confusion came back.  
  
"Alex? Did you hear me?"  
  
"Huh?" he asked, emarassed, glacing at Tod, who was fumbling with the pricing gun.  
  
"I said the pricing gun is fucking up," Tod continued to ramble about how pissed he was.  
  
Alex looked at the screen. Tod continued to swipe the economy-sized mouthwash and come up with $1.80 on the screen, when the label on the product clearly said that it was four dollars. Tod sighed and plopped the bottle down and swept the candy bars.  
  
"Fuck!" Tod hissed. The screen didn't change.  
  
Tod a calculator out of the drawer and punched in the totals.  
  
"I'll talk with Mr. Wier about the machine. Er, I'll cover tax for ya."  
  
Alex chuckled, mostly because Tod barely knew how to subtract four apples from nine apples, as they tought in first grade, much less calculate sales tax on a scientific calculator.  
  
Tod glared at his chuckling friend. Then broke into a smile.  
  
"If you don't mind stayin' around half an hour and helping me clean up we can go catch a movie later."  
  
Alex shrugged. "Ya know, I'll help you clean, but I'll pass on the flick. I'm kinda tired."  
  
Tod looked at the clock. "Alex, the late show starts at nine."  
  
In these summer months, the sky was barely grey, much less dark. If it hadn't been a school day by that day, Alex's friend Billy probably would be just getting out of bed by now.  
  
"I'm just feeling a little under the weather."  
  
Tod scoffed while he punched out. "'Under the weather?' What are you, forty? And you are NOT pussying out on this trip because of a little headache."  
  
Alex lowered his thin brows. "Who said I was pussying out?" he challenged, tossing a bag of crisps at Tod.  
  
Tod didn't say a word, he just replaced the crisps. "There are security cameras, crotchface. Do you want me to get fired?"  
  
Alex didn't feel the least bit guilty, but he didn't feel like speaking to Tod, as his friend got worked up easily. Tod rounded the counter to the front door to switch the sign, but didn't complete the task as he was slammed in the face with the door.  
  
"Don't you fuckin' switch that sign around!" Billy Hitchcock exclaimed as he entered the store, with a complete disregard for Tod's bloodied nose.  
  
"Fuck, Billy!" Alex scolded his clumsy friend as he fetched a paper towel for Tod to block the leakage in his nose with.  
  
"Tod, you're not closing this dump until I get one double-scooped cookie-dough ice cream with a Smarty cone and a caramel log on top.  
  
Tod's buggy eyes reeled with the order, as if such an item had never been commanded. It probably hadn't. Billy's scrawny figure made one wonder why on earth he ate what he did - even boys, who had no interest in "eating right," marvelled at the lanky boy.  
  
"Didn't have supper?" he inquired as he scooped up the ice cream and tossed it onto the candy cone.  
  
"Just spaghetti. But I'm still starving."  
  
"You fucking pig," Alex taunted, pretending to flex his muscles, "You've gotta bulk up!"  
  
"This is perfect for bulk!" Billy insisted. "I could use some extra insulation. Some girls think it's sexy."  
  
Alex was about to tell him he was far from sexy when he felt as if he had been struck upside the head with something heavy. He held his head and tried to squeeze away the seering pain. Soon his head hurt so much he struggled to keep his eyes opened.  
  
"Are you okay, Alex?" Tod asked him, coming closer to his friend.  
  
"My head..." Alex was able to groan, but the pain nearly sent him to the floor.  
  
"Is it a headache?" Billy asked cluesly.  
  
"It feels like a car parked on top of my head!" Alex spat.  
  
"Alex, take it easy," Tod cautioned. "Just get a pill and it'll be fine."  
  
Alex was amazed that Tod actually showed concern for something other than Simpsons for once, and clearing some of the toxic clouds in his head, he stood up straighter and accepted a Tylonol from Tod's shakey hand and a swig from his best friend's water bottle. Slowly, he rubbed his temples until the pain was more bearable. He still wanted to crawl into bed in pain, but he "played through the pain."  
  
Billy fell right for it when they walked out of the store together. Tod was more skeptical, not believing for a minute that his friend was alright.  
  
"You okay to come to the movies with us?" Tod asked.  
  
Alex bit his lip in thought, actually at a crossroad. Tod, for once, was not being a total jerk and forcing him into something, as he was taking Browning's freak-out into consideration. But for some reason that made Alex want to go.  
  
"Sure," he said as Billy straddled his bike, "Why not?"  
  
The three friends walked down the street. Maybe it was just that his buds weren't so bright or tactfull, but it was weird that no one mentioned Alex's little episode.  
  
***  
  
Half past twelve. Alex had called his parents letting them know when the movie was, but he hadn't told them that he and Alex and Billy had gone out for burgers and fries later. He had completely neglected that he still had school the next day - or rather, that current day. School began at seven thirty, which gave Alex roughly six hours of sleep if he wanted to be ready on time. One last day of school - which would most likely be a lazy one - and then he was off to his European Sex Odessy, as Tod referred to it.  
  
Alex had to laugh. Sex odessy? Tod had a girlfriend already, and besides, he was destined to be a virgin until he was thirty, the way Shania was being quite particular about "waiting." The best time Billy could have would be to microwave a bagel and have sex with it. And Alex was pathetically girl-less, plus with Clear in the area, he didn't exactly feel comfortable scooping up the French sluts.  
  
He checked out the kitchen. A plate with baked chicken covered by Saraan wrap and a note on top, as well as his dad's annoying snoring lingering in the air, indicated that his parents didn't mind that he had come home late - much.  
  
'Alex -  
  
Brilliant way to get out of fixing the furnace. It blew at ten after nine. I guess you were lucky. Don't worry, I called the repairman. He's coming tomorrow - but as punishment, the money is coming out of your pocket.  
  
Dad'  
  
Alex groaned. If it weren't for that stupid headache and decided he should be a 'pal' to Tod, he wouldn't be losing ten bucks an hour for some half-pantsed moron to fix a blown furnace.  
  
'I can't lose that much money,' he thought desperately to himself, 'I need it for Paris. How long will fixing it take?'  
  
In sheer desperation, he ran to the laundry room where the furnace looked like a dark blackened face. Torn open in the middle with shards of it missing, and he still smelled smoke lurking in the room.  
  
Glancing at the damage to the furnace, he was suddenly thankfull for the headache.  
  
Headache.  
  
His head began to pound again while he walked to his room. He held his hands over his throbbing head, swimming in pain until he fell onto his bed into a deep and painfull sleep.  
  
***  
  
Clear Rivers studied the tabs she had written in front of herself. 'It really would be easier with Drop D,' she mused. She took an eraser to it and edited the tabs, twisted her E string, and began to run through her self-composed work. No words were added, but the four lines of tabs were a song in themselves.  
  
"What do you think, Prince?" she cooed to her already huge German Sheperd puppy, who was sitting on her bed. Prince showed no appreciation to the song, but he did show his thirst for attention. He rolled over presenting his stomach with his paws held over his little heart. This was dog language for 'pet me.'  
  
Clear grinned at this sight and slid her chair over to her unmade bed where Prince lay, his paws in the air.  
  
"I love you, boy!" she said with a grin. The full moon lit up her almost completely dark room, and she recalled a book she had read as a child. One of those ones about looking up at the moon and wondering if someone else was looking at the same moon. She wondered it at that moment, she and Alex were looking at the same moon... doing the same thing.  
  
Wham! Like a ton of bricks smacking into her head, her brain jumped, and she dropped her guitar.  
  
Woah. One huge headache wave. It was like there was a beating heart in her head, sending out more pain every second.  
  
Prince reacted to the bang of the falled guitar and began to bark. "Prince, shut up!" she yelled tightly.  
  
She heard her mom, who was preparing clothes for the trip in the laundry room, call out to her. "Clear?" she shouted, "Are you alright?"  
  
Clear was not one for complaining. "I'm fine!" she replied.  
  
"Get to sleep, Clearie," her mom told her more softly and motherly, "We have a big day tomorrow."  
  
As any teenager would, Clear rolled her eyes, but reluctantly put her guitar away. Already in her pajamas, she reached onto her top shelf and grabbed ahold of her Tylonol. She popped it with a swig from her ever-present water bottle. Then, as part of her nightly routine, something as regular to her as washing her face, she popped two more - one for depression, and one sleeping pill.  
  
She regretted taking the last one, though, as she drifted off before she could think about Alex.  
  
Thinking about him was fun. 


	2. Chapter Two: A Connection

Chapter Two  
  
The Connection  
  
Journal: Carter Horton  
  
I'm sitting outside school, in the back seat of my own car, because I don't want anoyone to see me writing in my journal.  
  
I mean, how many actually do this? Keep a journal, I mean?  
  
I just need a way to figure things out. Keep track, ya know? Because right now, Terry's totally confusing me.  
  
First of all, she messaged me last night about two hours after dinner and told me that sex is boring. I was kinda wierded, like "Boring, period, or boring with me?" She told me that what we're doing is boring and we're being too cheesy and immature.  
  
I'm sorry, but I'm sure EVERY GUY my age that's just starting to get into it full swing is beeing a little immature.  
  
Or maybe I really do suck, timing-wise who knows?  
  
If I know Terry, she likes excitement. That gives me something to work with.  
  
So right now I've got a condom in my back pocket, a key in my front pocket, and one huge hope for a miracle.  
  
~~~  
  
Terry and Carter burst into the theatre storage room, laughing hard. Classes were doing nothing all day - just doing useless things like returning books and going over airport procedures. Total junk. No one noticed when both of them snuck out, but just in case, Carter had said he was going to go help Coach Griffin with something.  
  
Now, Carter was stuck in the moment. The storage room was nice and cold, black cinderblock walls with only a few lights, and the same red carpet as was in the auditorium. Except for some scenery from the drama club's last production, it was pretty 'in the mood.' In fact, if it weren't so immasculating, Carter would have hummed the song 'In The Mood,' as he was getting pretty excited. He nearly danced over to get the chair and stuffed it under the doorknob.  
  
"What's so exciting about sex in the school?" Terry asked, grinning.  
  
Carter turned back to her. "The sex part," he laughed.  
  
***  
  
"Oh, sweet Jesus," Carter moaned. Not quite "there," but almost. He groped Terry's clothed chest. He had already removed her baggy white sweater, and was working on unbuttoning her pink blouse. He slid it off her shoulders as they made out against the wall. He opened his eyes and in slight dissapointment, saw Terry's white camisol, as well as a bra underneeth.  
  
"Fuck, Terry," he mumbled, trying to be heard clearly, "How many layers of clothes do you wear?"  
  
"I think... three?" she asked with a silly skip in her voice.  
  
"What the fuck," someone was grumbling outside.  
  
"Shit," he muttered, trying to pull away from Terry. She didn't sense any commotion, though.  
  
She only jumped up when the sound of Carter's 'safety chair' was pushed aside by the opening door.  
  
"Oh, shit!" they both heard the disgusted voice.  
  
The voice belonged to none other than Billy Hitchcock.  
  
"Now I've seen it all," Billy was mumbling, attempting not to look at the excited couple as he searched through the shelves for something. Still, the two were wandering into his periferal vision, as Carter had observed.  
  
"Hi, Billy," Terry said meekly.  
  
"Yeah, hey," he said as if he were rushed, though he wasn't getting out of the storage room any faster.  
  
Terry knew she had left Billy broken-hearted back in tenth grade, but that was tenth grade. He HAD to be over it. That didn't mean he had to be polite to her, but...  
  
He acted the way people did when she was still the Fat Kid.  
  
Yes, almost everyone had forgotten about ninth grade. Terry was zitty, fat, and in dire need of some fashion advice. But she lost weight, and gotten, as people referred to as, 'hot.'  
  
Billy hadn't forgotten about her past though. That was the reason he fell for her. She was a loser just like him.  
  
He must have found what he was looking for, because the door slammed and Carter and Terry were alone again, not quite 'in the mood' anymore.  
  
What had happened?  
  
With Billy, that was.  
  
***  
  
'What happened?' Billy thought to himself.  
  
He wanted to know what happened to his shoe. It was in perfect condition yesterday, and now his sweaty toes had finally worn through the front. Time to get a new pair.  
  
He knocked on the music room door again, trying to shake the image of Terry and Carter, hot and heavy, six feet away from him. Totally disturbing. It made him hate Terry, Carter, and himself. Ha! Like he would admit that to anyone though.  
  
Finally, Mr. Ciccone, the eccentric music teacher who's droopy eyes reminded him of Paul McCartney's (translation: burnout) answered the door.  
  
"Billy!" he exclaimed cheerfully, in a fashion that gave Billy the creeps, "Did you find that box of reeds?"  
  
"Yes, sir," he said, trying not to let on that he had a sneaking suspicion that the music teacher was a peadophile.  
  
"Come on in, and help me stack the chairs."  
  
Billy followed Mr. Ciccone in. The music room looked different without all the clutter. The other grades in the school didn't have to go while the seniors were in Paris, so teachers were majorly sorting through things today. Billy went to work right away, and began stacking the black chairs against the wall.  
  
It didn't exactly make him sweat, but it WAS a boring activity. He wished ge could hang out with Alex or the twins, but duty called. He looked up the wall at the tiny window which projected out of the basement and showed the outside world. It shed light on the wall which held pictures of past music students. With nothing to do but watch Mr. Ciccone play his trumpet, he ventured over to the wall with the pictures.  
  
Clear was the only one of them who had ever taken music. She played piano and guitar, not to mention she sang. Billy remembered hearing her sing once or twice at the lake where they had met, but she was always too shy to sing in front of class. Still, there was probably a picture of her hangin out with her guitar.  
  
Sure enough, there was a picture of Clear, looking the same as always - no, not the same. In fact, her smile was genuine. She wasn't using a tight, fake smile, or her automatic scowl. It figured. That was before her mom's remarriage.  
  
He glanced around. Ciccone was lost in some old jazz tune, and no one would notice if the picture were to dissapeared... 'I should give it to Alex,' he mused. Nay, he WOULD give it to Alex.  
  
'After all,' he thought while he shoved the picture into his sweater pocket, 'He could use some cheering up.'  
  
***  
  
"You're bringing your portable stereo, right? It's pointless if the two of us bring it."  
  
Shania leaned on Tod's shoulder, her hair blocking out the shining sun. A tad of spring dew was beading on the grass, so she had taken off her platform sandals and was skimming her toes along the surface of the ground.  
  
"Yeah, I'm bringin' it," she said slowly with the lazy drawl that was so casual it reminded Tod Southern farmer, "Look at us, sharing everything. It's like we're married."  
  
Tod smirked Tod-ishly. "Well now that you mention it," he began jokingly. Shania laughed, rolled her eyes, and gave him a smack.  
  
"You're such a cheezeball!" she squealed while running her hand along the grass, imitating her foot.  
  
"Only with you," Tod admitted, almost like he was the slightest bit guilty.  
  
Shania blushed. Was that a good thing? That he was different around her?  
  
"George is letting me use his camper matress if you stay in my room too late and you don't wanna get caught sneaking back," Tod told her suggestively.  
  
"Guys and girls aren't even allowed in the same room!" Shania reminded him, putting her suddenly cold hands and feet to rest. Even though Tod made a point of bringing up the "different bed" rule, one that she had set the first time she spent the night at Tod's house, the fact that he was even bringing it up worried her. Was Tod ready for sex? If he was that meant he was a whole lot more sure of himself than she was.  
  
"Puh-leez," Tod egged on with a roll of his big eyes, "You think Lewton and Murneau can keep their hands off each other during that trip?"  
  
Shania burst out laughing. Tod, as well as half the other seniors at MAHS believed that Valerie Lewton, the 31-year-old newly hired English teacher, was totally hot and heavy with Mr. Larry Murneau, the 50-something French-Canadian head of the Foreign languages department. Tod, however, took the story to new heights. He told such funny stories that even Shania began to see a spark between the mismatched couple.  
  
"We'd better get going in," Shania said dreamily as the sun soaked in and the wind hung in the air, "I think I heard the bell for third."  
  
"Third?" A new voice was now ringing. "Third started fifteen minutes ago. Murneau didn't even show up."  
  
Shania flicked her head to see who the voice had come from, even though there was no denying, it was from her best friend in the world, Kimberly Corman.  
  
Kimberly looked sweet and innocent, and compared to Shania, she was. The two had met in the same kindergarten school and been friends since, of course back then they were oblivious to their differences. Shania liked to joke around and be totally in someone's face, but never cruel. Kimberly was reserved and polite, but turn your back and she would light up or steal something. Perhaps their opposites were due to how they dealed with situations. Shania's parents had been divorced since she was born, probably before. Since she knew nothing else, splitting time between her mother and father didn't affect her.  
  
Kimberly, on the other hand, had a lawyer for a father and her mom owned a coffee shop/bookstore. She was used to the finer things in life, and though she was trained to be a lady, was really, truly, anything but. Sure, she was a nice girl, but Tod couldn't stand her.  
  
"Good to know," Shania said, louder than her 'with-Tod' voice. She slipped into her other sandle and walked over to Kimberly, who was liting up a cigarette. Personally, Shania couldn't stand cigarette smoke, but since Kimberly was her best friend, as well as the fact that her friends Dano and Frankie smoked more than regular cigarettes, she had no choice but to let it slide.  
  
"Guess what," Kimberly began to groan in the way she always whined. It made Tod sick. "Frankie told me that he can't take me out for pool tonight beause he has to PACK. Yeah right! The guy owns about three t-shirts and all he has to do is bunch them up and toss them in a bag, but can he spend time with his own girlfriend on their last night in North America? I don't think so. It's just like..."  
  
Tod, sensing that Shania would be there awhile, gave his girlfriend a wink and slowly walked through the back doors into the school.  
  
The bright common area was just as toasty as outside was. He walked through the dragon doors, passing under the bridge linking the language wing to the business wing, and up the half-flight of stairs to a set of lunch tables. Alex and Billy were sitting there, making small talk. Alex had a picture of a slightly younger Clear holding her guitar next to him.  
  
"Hey, Alex," Tod chirped as he slid into the seat.  
  
"Waggner," Alex mumbled, examining his cinnamon bun.  
  
"Y'alright?" Tod asked him, remembering last night's episode all too well.  
  
"I'm fine," Alex assured his best friend, actually looking away from his desert, "I just can't help thinking that something doesn't feel like I'm GOING to France."  
  
Tod shrugged and cocked an eyebrow. "That's just nerves, man."  
  
Alex shook his head. "You don't get it... I don't get it..." Tod braced himself for one of Alex's speeches on his 'feelings,' not the ones in his heart but his weird vibes that he got, when Alex groaned.  
  
Suddenly Tod was reliving last night at the mini-mart, watching Alex hold his hands to his temples in a fit of pain.  
  
"Not again," Billy mumbled, searching through his lunch bag. He handed Tod a cold plastic ice pack that he used to keep his food cold. Alex accepted it, and shaking, he held it to his head. Slowly, Alex breathed in until he opened his eyes to see Billy and Tod staring at him expectantly.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbled, still in pain.  
  
***  
  
"Sorry," Clear said to a heavyset woman that she had just bumped into. The woman didn't even say anything. Clear found that so rude. She kept walking until she saw her mom, tall and thin with brown hair so curly it reminded her of Terry's. Her mom was smiling, something Clear barely ever saw.  
  
"I just payed the bill," Clear's mom told her, poised to leave the truck stop where they had eaten a good, hot lunch.  
  
"How much longer until we get to Mount Aberham?" Clear asked her mom, anxious for her return to Alex, Billy, and the rest of her friends.  
  
"I'd say six or seven hours if we leave right now..." she looked outside the large bay window. "We certainly won't have a lot of company on the road."  
  
Clear felt herself returning her mom's smile. Clear was happy that she was seeing her friends. Clear's mom was happy that Clear was happy. Which made Clear extremely happy.  
  
"Let's get outa here," her mom coaxed. Without a word, Clear followed her mom out the heavy steel door.  
  
The gravel in the parking lot made a crunching under Clear's brown sandals. Clear suddenly remembered she had forgotten to pack her favourite pair of knee boots. She tried to think of everything she had taken with her, but she knew, aside from those tacky boots, everything was in the car.  
  
"Come on, Clear," her mom called to her, already in the car. But Clear stood still.  
  
She was feeling a throbbing in her head... she remembered feeling the same thing last night. She moved her foot, but the second it hit the ground, it sent shockwaves into her. On impulse, she dropped her backpack from her hand.  
  
"Are you alright, hon?" her mom asked, peeking up from the car.  
  
Clear looked at her mother, and not wanting to delay their trip, forced a strained smile. "I'm alright!" She watched a tiny blue car leave the lot. She followed it a bit until she made her way to her mom's car, which suddenly seemed a whole hell of a lot further.  
  
Her mom took a slower, closer peer at her daughter. "Clear, you don't look too well."  
  
Clear bit her lip. Her mom always knew what was going down.  
  
"Go inside and buy a pack of Tylenol!" her mom instructed, holding out a five dollar bill. Clear snatched it, and, not bothering to stay upbeat, walked back into the store.  
  
Making her purchas was a breeze, but she couldn't help but become distracted during the payment process... she looked out the window, her headache still roaring, if anything, getting more and more intense, and...  
  
BOOM!  
  
In the same motion that the man handed her her change and the pills, the dirty old window was highlighted with orange and red balls of flames. Clear, her mouth agape, ran to the door and burst through it, just in time to see a pickup truck skid into the flames and hear another boom.  
  
Her headache had magically lifted, but it wasn't half as straining as watching the accident. Her mom joined her and they ran to the side of the rode together.  
  
The blue car that had just left the lot was among the flaming mess.  
  
Clear knew that only meant one thing.  
  
Her headache saved her life. 


End file.
